The Hammer of Westeros
by Tellie571
Summary: A great champion and scourge of the undead gets pulled in by the Old Gods as he dies and reborn in Westeros to fight the Others. Technically a crossover, but the character only. Violence, death, gore and sex, the usual ASOIAF stuff really. You have been warned.
1. Prologue

**The Hammer of Westeros**

 _Once in the realm of the Vale in Westeros young man named Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storms End bedded a young tavern maid. Nine months later a young girl was born from that dalliance, yet the Gods have a strange way of interfering in the strangest of ways. For shortly after Robert bedded the young woman, in another realm a mighty warrior named Harald Hammerstorm breathed his last._

 _Harald had grown up in the chaos wastes even further north than what was named in the Old World as Norscha. As a young man, himself and his tribe had sought shelter in an underground city where they had hoped for treasure, unaware of the silent guardians who resided there. In the middle of the night, corpses long dead had come to life and fallen upon young Harry as his men called him and his fellow warriors. One by one they fell as the undead kept coming in what seemed like a never ending wave. Fear gripped their hearts as no matter how many of the abominations they felled three took their place, and their courage hung by a thread before Harry had enough._

 _Screaming in fury at the senseless slaughter of his men Harry raised his hammer and dove headfirst into the shambling horde. Such was his fury as his hammer rose and fell, each swing of his chosen weapons reducing rotten flesh to mush and bones to splinters, and as the gods gave him their favour unholy light shone from beneath his helmet and his roars of fury seemed to thunder through the underground city and for the first time in their (un)life the dead felt fear. His men rallied to Harry as he drove deeper and deeper into the giant tomb, and zombies, skeletons and all manner of holy beasts were pushed back and trampled underfoot through judicious use of cold hard steel until even the fearless undead broke as their nerve failed at last._

 _Ever since Harald Hammerstorm was known to the world as Harry the Hammer. Unlike most champions of the Dark Gods of Chaos Harry was not intent of bloody conquest or demonhood. For the near death of him and his men had awoken an unholy fury and hatred for all things undead and Harry swore to himself that night that he would see the undead scourge removed from the world. For decades himself and his ever increasing warband travelled across the realms of the world, visiting dark crypts, ancient forests and forgotten castles in search of the restless dead._

 _Eventually came the day of the End Times, where the forces of Chaos clashed against the forces of life and death alike, one final battle to determine the survivors of the apocalypse, a final battle that Harry intended to fight. The fight was long, for hours Harry waded through waves of undead, striking down mighty vampires, hordes of ghouls to unnatural necromantic constructs until he stood face to face with the Great Necromancer himself. The grand duel he fought against Nagash would be spoken of in awe by surviving witnesses and go down though folklore for millennia afterwards. Seven times he struck the giant monster, seven times the Great Necromancer screamed in pain before Harry stumbled on a loose rock. Nagash drove his giant foot on top of Harry, crushing his chest and rupturing organs, yet even as he lay mortally wounded Harry summoned the strength to strike one last time on Nagash's leg, a strike so mighty the necromancer was forever forced to walk with a limp forever after and Harry breathed his last with a smile on his face._

 _As his soul flew towards the Great Beyond where dark evil gods waited to fight over his soul like a tasty morsel, the Old Gods of another world entirely interfered. The Great Other's time of reappearance beyond Brandon's wall was coming and with them would come the army of the dead and to fight them more than one champion would be needed. The Prince Who Was Promised was one such champion, yet as Harry The Hammer died the Old Gods knew him to be as good if not better an option for fighting the walkers, so they reached out and snatched his soul from the eternal torment of the Gods of Chaos, almost smiling at their howl of rage and pushed him into creation._

 _Nine months after Robert Baratheon bedded the young vale maid, Mya and Harry Stone were born, blue eyes and black of hair. Walkers beware, Harald Hammerstorm is here._

 **Right, I just had to get this off my chest. I've always wondered how a bona fide 'almost' good chaos champion could do in the ASOIAF verse. Don't get me wrong, He is still a chaos warrior, but hardly as diehard murder/slaughter everyone and everything as most of them are. Do tell me what you think of the idea. Also I would welcome ideas for pairing/pairings, whether it is marriage or casual flings...and do you think he should father a few bastards of his own just like bobby b?**

 **Cheers**

 **Tellie571**


	2. First Blood

**Vale of Arryn. 3** **rd** **month 287 AC.**

 **Harry**

Harry Stone was riding next to his 'sister' Mya on their trip to Riverrun. Once, Harry had been a fierce warrior whom few could compare to. A mighty warrior king who had reaved and raided all across the known world in search of gold, glory, women and the accursed undead. For over six decades his business had been war, and business was good. While his main focus and target of his hatred had been the undead he and his people had brutally smashed anything else that got in their way. Whether it be puny men worshipping their pathetic Gods to the dim witted greenskins to the fancy elves. Harry had fought them all in the name of his gods.

He had offered mountains worth of smashed skulls and rivers of blood to Khorne, had participated in the vilest debaucheries to please the Prince of Pleasure, and gritted his teeth as he weathered vile diseases gifted to him from father Nurgle when raiding the jungles of Lustria. He had served the Dark Gods better and longer than most and what was his repayment? As he died fighting perhaps the greatest foe the world had ever seen they had laughed and mocked him as they started to tear and torment his soul between them. His rescue had come in the shape of non-distinct voices and a primal power that yanked him out of his torment and before he knew what had happened he awoke as a squealing babe and placed next to another one.

His formative years were hard for a man of his nature. Gone from a mighty martial form into a weak suckling babe, completely dependent on his mother. The men and women around him spoke in a different language that he had to painstakingly learn. His Gods had betrayed him, even now he had yet to hear their whispers. Still, not all was bad. While he was as fond of marauding as the next man, he always valued family and bonds of brotherhood, and he grew very…fond of his sister Mya as they grew up beside each other. Their mother loved both of them very much, and their father took every chance he had to visit them.

Their father, he still remembered him from before the Rebellion, he had lived in the Vale as a ward to Jon Arryn and visited at least every other day. Then the Rebellion came. His father's betrothed had been abducted and the King had called for their father's head, naturally he resisted. For near a year the rebellion raged before their father had finally achieved victory, and from the descriptions of his father's battle against the Prince Rhaegar on the Trident, Harry was forced to acknowledge the Robert Baratheon was a worthy warrior.

At first he had been excited, their father becoming King would mean that sooner or later he, Harald Hammerstorm would inherit, yet apparently it was not so. Both he and his sister were what the Westerosi called bastards. Apparently since their parents were not wed (a foolish tradition in Harry's mind) they were considered an affront. Children born of sin and as such tainted and without rights to any sort of inheritance or even a gods damned name of their own. He had been five when Lord Nestor Royce, the Castellan of the Eyrie had explained to them what bastards were. Mya had at first almost taken to tears, while Harry himself had stalked out into the practice yard where the Knights and men-at-arms of Lord Arryn's household were.

He had picked up a shield and hammer and started to whack one of the training dummies with fury as Mya joined him, watching as her big brother (in more ways than one) beat the wooden dummy.

While no longer a followed of the Dark Gods, he was still it became clear from very young age blessed. Their unnatural power still flowed through his veins, granting him prodigious strength, endurance and speed. It was however the first time anyone had seen him with a weapon in hand and a trio of squires had made the mistake of trying to chase him off with their jeers and taunts of bastardry. Harry however had just looked at the fools, twice his age and green enough to piss grass. He had pointed the hammer that a normal boy his age would have troubles even lifting and challenged them for the right of the training yard.

The men in the yard had laughed mockingly, yet the three squires had accepted his challenge and advanced on him, intent on 'teaching the bastard some manners' as they put it. The laughs silenced as the first squire fell to the ground, howling in agony at his broken thigh. The other two had been easily dealt with. Ducking under one sword swing he had blocked the other strike in its tracks with his shield. He had immediately gone on the offensive, knocking one squire onto his arse with his shield, a swift kick had the boy spitting teeth and blood as he howled while holding his broken jaw and nose, the other one had the breath driven out of him as Harry bashed him in the stomach with his borrowed hammer, before he too joined his friends on the ground as Harry knocked his lights out with his shield, as the three squires squirmed on the ground Harry had thrown away his shield and bellowed at the top of his lungs. "I AM THE SON OF ROBERT BARATHEON. MY FATHER IS KING, WHO ARE YOU CUNTS TO QUESTION ME"?

At that moment none had the balls to refute his claims. While only five, he looked like eight or nine, sharing his father's tall and strong physique, wild black hair and stormy blue eyes that almost seemed aglow, it was clear to everyone just who his father was.

The ensuing lecture from BOTH their mother and Lord Nestor however was quite disappointing. They had to sit there for hours as both mother and Lord Nestor chastised them for everything, from his course language to how badly he had wounded those squires, and how fortunate he was that none of them were from a wealthy or noble house. Still he was allowed into the practice yard after that while learning his craft as a blacksmith, his Master being impressed at how quickly he was learning, completely unaware that Harry himself had mastered the art of magical blacksmithing for decades, and even Mya had been permitted in the training yard (at his insistence), he had to teach her himself though as no one else desired to teach a bastard girl the way of the sword.

While Mya had been slightly confused at first why she should learn to swing a sword, Harry had sat her down one day and tried to explain the cruelties of the world, and how those who did not wield swords could still die from them. Her lacklustre enthusiasm quickly changed however, as word had reached their father on how he had beaten three squires and the King had ridden to the Eyrie to see his son and daughter for the first time since he had wed his new Lannister wife Cersei.

To say the King had been pleased once he saw both himself and Mya in action was an understatement. Acting far younger than his age the king had grabbed both his bastard children in a powerful hug, laughing with a booming voice as he tossed them into the air as he had done when they were but babes. Mya was as pleased as a dark elf in a free whorehouse at their father's approval and had demanded that Harry stepped up their training. Once Robert saw how his five-year-old boy could handle squires twice his age "And with a fucking Warhammer even, that's my boy alright" he yelled, and decided to formally acknowledge Harry and Mya as his children.

It wasn't legitimization, but it was a step closer to it. They would receive a small pittance every month (most of which went to mother for food and other amenities), and most importantly came the promise of Knighthood for Harry one day, and perhaps a good marriage for Mya one day (bastard or not she was the daughter of a King). While Harry didn't particularly care about the last, (Mya was fully capable of choosing her own man he thought) the first one intrigued him.

He had never held Knights in high regard. In the wastes a 'Knight' simply meant that you were bigger, stronger, deadlier than everyone else, there were no ceremonial oaths or oils or touching one's shoulder with a sword. In the North and the Wastes a Knight was simply the best killer there was, clad in ensorcelled steel that acted as a second skin, heavier than most men could lift it protected a man like nothing else. Their weapons, cold hard steel capable of cleaving an armoured man in two, oh yes a Knight was a killer nothing more.

Naturally the puny inhabitants of the Empire, or even wine loving Bretonnians had completely different ideas about Knighthood. Amongst them they were noble, just, full of chivalry and honour and warriors without peer. Harry snorted, a chivalry and honour, both were nothing more than a grand illusion, great knights or common peasants, they all cried for their mothers and shit themselves as they died on the battlefield. Mind you there were a few noteworthy individuals, the bretonnian Grail Knights in particular actually offered up some good challenges, and for a second Harry mourned his old soup bowl that had one been the upper cranium of a particularly skilled Grail Knight. He had fought so hard and impressed Harry greatly enough that Harry had spared the rest of his companions…before striking his head of his shoulders of course.

And Knights here in Westeros, they were even more of a joke. Here enough cold and thirty pounds of armour could make a Knight, and he almost smiled at the thought of how he was going to humiliate the nobility of Westeros. Here he might be a bastard, devoid of land and title, but enough gold and such things could change. He would make damn sure to become a Knight as early as could be and then…well then he'd make himself rich by dominating tourneys about Westeros, enough gold and bastard or not he would be able to procure himself a keep, perhaps find a good enough looking woman to whelp some pups while he went east to make his fortune. The plan was simple, it was doable, and most importantly of all, it was easy.

Their father had visited often over the next year, until a letter came, bidding Harry to come to Riverrun in preparation for the tourney there, so Harry, Mya, Ser Brynden the Blackfish and fifty other Knights from around the Vale had set out on the journey.

They were close to the crossroads inn when they were attacked. Harry, Mya, Ser Brynden, Lord Yohn Royce and his sons Andar and Robar who had ridden ahead were attacked by men from the Mountain Clans. With a loud cacophony of screams, a rain of stones thrown from slings fell amongst them and Brynden and Bronze Yohn cursed as they drew their swords. "Stay behind us children", Bronze Yohn said as he positioned his horse in front of them, Ser Brynden mimicking him. "Andar, you protect them", he told his oldest son, a boy of four and ten who drew his own blade with a steady hand.

Harry however was having none of it. He had gone six damn years in this strange new world without a decent scrap, it had been years since he had last enjoyed the pleasures of a good woman and he thirsted for blood, and two experienced Knights in plate and another still a squire was hardly enough to stand against thirty howling barbarians eager for blood.

Harry grinned as Ser Brynden and Lord Yohn galloped towards the rapidly closing clansmen on their barded warhorses with steel in their hands. He gave a quick salute to his sister, grabbed his hammer and shield, jumped of his horse and ran full pelt to aid their protectors.

Ignoring Mya's scream of "HARRY", and Andar's screams of, "GET BACK HERE BOY", he came across the first clansman.

The beared brute towered above him, a macabre necklace of severed ears hung about his neck and he smashed his sword down towards his head. Harry raised his shield and blocked the strike effortlessly, a quick smash against the surprised brute's knee forced him down to Harry's level and Harry swung his hammer down upon his head. He laughed as his face was sprayed with blood and brainmatter as the clansman's head was flattened into a pulp of blood and bone and eagerly stepped forward towards the next opponent. Ducking under a two handed swing of a great axe he smashed his hammer up with devastating force, caving in the unfortunate soul's chest and rupturing organs.

Another came at him but Harry struck first. The clansman screamed in agony as Harry's hammer smashed his shield into firewood, the bones in the man's arm shattered like glass, the following strike caved in the side of his head. Another stepped in to take his place and swung towards Harry with a great club. The swing was stopped by his shield which broke apart and bruised his arm. Harry just laughed, the pain insignificant compared to some of the wounds he had experienced in his long life and the clansman paid with his life as Harry drove a knife into his belly and tore it aside, causing the man to fall down as he tried to keep his guts inside. The next stroke that splattered his brains all over the place was a quick mercy really.

Seeing two more step towards him, far more careful in the face of what they deemed to be a young boy he eagerly stepped up to the challenge. Picking up a sword from the ground he stepped forward with much greater speed than a boy his age should possess and skewered the one to his left through the chest while shattering the blade of the man to his right with his hammer. The man's poor iron blade unable to withstand a direct hit by the blunt weapon. The man turned to run bat was far from quick enough to avoid Harry striking him in the back, shattering his spine, and the follow up strike to the back of his head that left it as a bloody visceral pool on the ground. And just like that it was over.

The surviving clansmen ran for the hills at the savage beating they'd taken, and Lord Yohn and Ser Brynden stared dumbfounded at him, surrounded by pulverized clansmen and drenched in blood and gore while Harry laughed heartily.

"I'll be damned if you aren't the King's son", Ser Brynden laughed as he led his horse over.

Yohn just shook his head. "I'd heard that you were vicious with a hammer but I never expected something like this, seven men dead and you've yet to grow your first hairs on your cock", the older man said as his lips tugged upwards in a grin.

"bastards grow up quicker than normal men", Harry laughed as he ripped a cloak off of a dead clansman to clean up his face and hammer of at least some of the blood.

The two Knights laughed as Harry saddled his horse again and they set out for the inn. "I'll be buying you a proper man's drink when we reach the inn lad, you've earnt it", Brynden said as he slapped his shoulder.

The rest of the trip to the inn went on in relative silence, broken by the odd chuckle of the older men, The Royce boys unsure of what to say, and Mya was too busy giggling at their stupefied expressions to make decent conversation.

As they came to the inn they were pleasantly surprised to see the King's banner already there, he himself was apparently going to Riverrun and had chosen to go by this way so he could meet up with his bastard boy and girl.

"WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS HAVE YOU DONE TO YOURSELF BOY"? their father's booming voice sounded as they stepped into the tavern.

All noise stopped as everyone turned to see the reason for the King's outburst, more than one maid gasping or even fainting in shock at the young boy standing there, drenched in blood with a bloody hammer across his shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

"Your Grace", Lord Royce said as Robert stood up and walked swiftly over to them, the Queen giving him and Mya glares that could've curdled milk. "We were ambushed by men from the mountain clans. Your bastard did his part by putting seven of them in the ground with his hammer".

That got everyone's attention. Their father stared at him for a second before bursting out in roaring laughter. "HAH, that's my boy", he roared as he grabbed him in a massive hug. "Let us see the hammer boy". He held out his hand expectantly and raised his eyebrows in surprise as he felt the weight of the weapon.

"You're telling me lad that you can swing this around"? he asked surprised, it was quite heavy, and over half of Harry's height.

Harry grinned as he took back the hammer. It was after all the same hammer he had wielded all his previous life, easy enough to forge and enchant if you knew the proper runes and chants, and seeing as he had forged it himself in his past life it had been child's play to reforge it, he just had to wait until he was fully grown before he could wield his armour as well.

"Would you care for a demonstration father"? he asked as he rested the hammer over his shoulder.

Robert nodded eagerly, before letting out a loud curse as Harry swing the enchanted steel monster at one of the wooden beams running up to the support beam at the roof. As thick as a man the beam broke in two in a massive shower of wooden splinters, prompting his father to yell out "SEVEN HELLS", before laughing.

Harry joined in the laughter, prompting several more to join in as well. Turning to the disgruntled innkeeper Harry threw over a golden dragon, "For the mess", he said as he put away his hammer and at his father's urging sat down at his father's table with Mya, Brynden, Yohn, Ser Barristan Selmy, Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer joining them. The Queen though raised her nose in the air like the spoiled bitch she was and thundered off to her rooms.

A bar wench came over to them, a tray filled with tankards overflowing with ale in her hands and Brynden laughingly placed one in front of Harry. "Drink up boy, I promised you".

"Your Grace", Barristan protested. "Is it wise to let a child drink"?

"Old enough to smash a man's head in, old enough to drink I say", Ser Brynden laughed with Robert joining in as well.

"I thank you for your concern Ser Barristan", Harry said as he raised the tankard. "But I say that I can drink any of you under the table and still piss straight", then he put the tankard to his mouth and drained it in one go.

The men around the table laughed uproariously at the display and eagerly accepted the challenge, even Barristan had an amused glint in his eyes as he shook his head, muttering "like father, like son I suppose".

Young body or not, Harry was blessed with a constitution far beyond other mortal men, and proper northmen started enjoying their drink at a very young age in the wastes.

The rest of the evening went by in a flurry of drink, food and bad japes. The men laughing more and more as they mocked the others for allowing a young boy to keep pace with their drinking. Once by one they bowed out, and both Harry and his father laughed gleefully as the Kingslayer stumbled towards his room, falling out flat as a board after three steps. Harry was forced to be impressed however his father continued guzzling down wine and ale until even Harry's impressive constitution was forced to yield, and rather embarrassingly he was forced to vomit up the food and drink he'd consumed, the only bright side to it was the fact that he did so all over the Kingslayer who didn't notice a thing, drunk as he was.

"Ahh lad. Ye've got some time left before ye can beat yer old man at drinking", Robert laughed humorously as he slapped a vomiting Harry on his back. "Now yer sister's already at bed and it's time for you to get to sleep too, we have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow".

With that Harry was forced to accept defeat, and allowed a young bar wench to lead him up to his room where a soft bed and tub of hot water waited. A short bath later to wash out the blood he was abed while the wench stole off with his clothes to no doubt try at least to wash them.

When he awoke his clothes were waiting for him, dry and for the most part clean so he dressed himself and went down the stairs to break his fast. No sooner had he stepped into the room proper before a hand grabbed him by the neck saying, "You little shit".

Decades of experience kicked in and Harry slammed his leg back, hitting a knee and drawing forth a yelp of pain. Capitalizing on his opponent's distraction Harry spun out of his loosened grip and jabbed the man hard between the legs with a closed fist before smashing his forehead into the man's face. The Queen screamed in rage as blood filled Harry's vision and as he stepped back his father laughed hysterically while the Queen ran forward and pushed Harry back to attend to the man who was now moaning incoherently on the floor.

Apparently the Kingslayer had not appreciated waking up with vomit all over his pretty white cloak and had intended to teach Harry a lesson, only to receive a smashed nose and two broken teeth for his trouble.

The Queen turned around, hate burning in her eyes and she launched out with her hand to slap Harry across the face. Harry grabbed her wrist and twitched, causing Cersei to fall to her knees as she spewed forth vulgarities.

"Queen or not, I don't appreciate people striking me for no good reason 'Your Grace'" Harry spat at her as he let her go to walk over to his father. "Father, I…apologise for striking your bodyguard and manhandling your wife", oh how it burned to have to defend himself. Were he but ten years older none in this filthy inn would stand a chance against him, yet for now, he was but a bastard boy. Strong and deadly yes, but entirely without political power.

Robert just laughed. "Bah, you're my son, my flesh and blood and I would have done the same were I in your shoes…just don't do it again".

This of course prompted an hour long argument as Cersei screamed, raged, cried. She tried every trick in the book, even flat out demanding Harry's head for wounding her brother so, yet Robert wouldn't have any of it. "Seven hells woman. Our son, that bond haired little babe will be King so you and your fucking father will have your greatest desire of having a King with Lannister blood on the throne. Now shut up and leave me in peace", he yelled as he finally had enough of Cersei's bitching.

The long ride to Riverrun was far too long in Harry's opinion, as Cersei was always there, she and her brother promising revenge with heated glares, of course Harry just ignored it. He had faced far worse foes than the Queen and her effeminate brother, it was the constant bitching that got to him. Gave him a headache and went on everyone's nerves. Of course her fits grew even worse when she learnt that Robert had introduced Harry to his baby brother Joffrey, the Crown Prince of the realm. A blonde haired squealing pink lump of flesh tears and shit. There was little if anything in the babe to prove that he was related to either Harry or Robert, which from the way Cersei reacted whenever someone mentioned it was probably the only thing that had saved the boy from his mother strangling him in his crib.

At Riverrun they were greeted warmly by Hoster Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and they were wined and dined with a huge feast of fish, roasted boar and stag, poultry and beef. Lord Tully had spared no expense and even though both he and Mya were both bastards, Robert had demanded they be seated at the high table.

The Tourney itself proved to be rather much of a bore. A former champion of Chaos, Harry had never lowered himself to use a bow in combat, and watching men and boys of all ages shoot arrows at a circular target almost reduced him to tears. The melee was interesting enough, blunted blades or no there was still the promise of blood, yet as he knew he was far too young to be allowed to compete. The victor of the melee was a fat man from the east, his great bulk almost bursting through the seams of his armour, yet he had a sword coated in green flames that Harry learnt was wildfire, a magical flame that was highly volatile.

The joust again was boring. Watching men and boys decked in flimsy plate ride down against each other with blunted lances was a waste of effort. The joust did give the fattest purse however, and as he saw how the womanfolk gathered in the stands reacted whenever one of the Knights deemed to give one of them some attention, especially when a Dornish Knight won and 'crowned' his lover as the Queen-of-Love-and-Beauty, Harry knew that he would have to lower himself to do this when he got old enough. Not only was the joust the best payout, it was also a near guarantee of free sex…both things that he wouldn't say no to.

As the tourney ended, men from all over the Seven Kingdoms went back to their various lands and castles, except for Robert who summoned both Harry and Mya into Lord Hoster's solar. There they met another man who looked remarkably like their father. "This is my brother Stannis, your uncle. Lord of Dragonstone, you two are to be his wards, and you boy will squire for him", Robert said.

Like his brothers, their father and other uncle Lord Renly, Stannis was a large man - tall, broad shouldered and sinewy, and Harry noted that Stannis, like their father towered over him and Mya. While not particularly unattractive, he was not as handsome as their father. Stannis had dark blue eyes. His head has only a fringe of black hair like the shadow of a crown, and a close-cropped beard across his large jaw. His face had a tightness to it like cured leather, and he had hollow cheeks. He had thin, pale lips and was wearing a simple grey outfit embossed with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

"Let me look at you boy", Stannis said as he walked over to Harry. "Hmm, you have my brother's appearance at least", Stannis stated as he inspected Harry, twisting his head this way and that in a tight grip.

"You are aware of what is expected of you as a Squire boy"? He asked.

"Yes", Harry grunted, causing Stannis to cluck disapprovingly.

"It's My Lord, or Lord Stannis. Learn your courtesies boy, that goes for you too girl", he added as he looked at Mya.

"Yes My Lord", they spoke in unison, Mya even giving a small curtsey.

"Bah Stannis, lighten up some. It wouldn't kill you to acknowledge them as your blood you know. They are your niece and nephew", Robert stated in good humour as he slapped his younger brother hard on the back.

Stannis grit his teeth as his face tightened. "Of course Your Grace", he bit out before turning back to Harry. "I hear tales that you killed a man on your way here. I would have the truth not lies".

"Of course My Lord", Harry grit out as he dutifully told Stannis the tale of what had happened, almost smiling as Stannis rather doubtful expression, especially as Stannis demanded to hold the hammer and felt the weight.

"You swung this"? he asked sceptically. "I know grown men who would have problems wielding a weapon like this".

Harry, Robert and Mya shared a laugh. "My Lord, regardless of my name, I am a Baratheon. Baratheon blood flows through my veins, and if you require a demonstration feel free to escort me to the practice yard".

A ghost of a smile flashed across Stannis' face. "Well said boy, but it can wait until we reach Dragonstone, the road is long, and there is much for you to learn".

He spoke the truth. Harry had learnt to read and to write, yet this was far from good enough from Stannis who demanded that he learn everything. He was forced to memorise and recite the sigil and words of every house. Their strength in men and resources, the laws of the land. Military strategy. Stannis was a fount if knowledge, and Harry was forced to admit that if the Empire had been filled and led by men like Stannis, the forces of the chaos wastes would have had a much tougher job.

Their Uncle was a man who brooked no nonsense in his domain. His wife, their aunt Selyse did not care for them, being bastard born of course and shunted Mya's tutoring off to her handmaids, or harry when he found the time. Stannis and his own relationship warmed up quickly however. Harry's skill at arms, his figure for strategy and tactics, and vast knowledge and skill with sailing endeared him to Stannis, and as he started to learn more, often being able to recite various Houses and their members and history for hours at a time Stannis even started to call him nephew, and even permitted himself and Mya to call him uncle…in private of course.

Not to say that all was good of course. Stannis chastised him often enough for his ego, indulgence with alcohol, brawling with other squires and coarse language, not really listening to Harry's excuses of being restless. The monotony of the life of a squire broke up a bit as Stannis' wife Selyse gave birth to a healthy baby during the year of 289 AC, and a mere two months after the girl Shireen was born the Ironborn rebelled. Harry almost crowed in anticipation. At ten years old, and as developed as most men of ten and four, Stannis should have no reason to refuse Harry to join him in battle, as his squire it should be his duty, Harry reasoned with Stannis, and after demonstrating his skill in the practice yard against Stannis himself, his uncle agreed to let Harry join him.

While at first sceptical and reluctant, Harry managed to persuade Stannis to let Harry captain a ship of his own with men he himself had befriended and practiced with over his years on Dragonstone. As he had done since he was old enough to bash in skulls Harry had started to mingle with other men, of all classes. Whether they be Knights or so called low born. Anyone could become a great warrior if he had the guts for it, so Harry had over his years at Dragonstone managed to gather up a core of fifty warriors and train them up to what he liked. Special brews to make them big and strong had been consumed over the years, like any true warrior dedicated to the Dark Gods drank.

While he himself did not follow them anymore, and had no intention of spreading their teachings either, he wasn't about to use what he had learnt over the course of his life. A magical drink that was easy enough to make, strengthened your bones, toughened your skin till it became almost as durable as leather, and much like himself their strength and stamina was increased to beyond the ken of normal men. It was not the same as a champion of the Dark Gods, blessed by a fraction of their divine power, but it was more than enough to make them into a man's nightmare.

All clad in ensorcelled steel plate over half an inch thick, with heavy chainmail underneath. Great horned helms, and thick leather cloaks with a heavy fur on top, Harry's men turned heads as they marched behind him onto their longship. Standing at near two metres tall in their armour they cut an intimidating figure, and most men shook their heads at the idea of going to battle on the sea clad in full armour. Yet as Harry placed his own helm over his head he found that he and his men did not care. Let the soft men laugh now, only to despair as Harry and his crew left them all behind with greater deeds. The only man who gave Harry and his men a nod of approval was Stannis who himself wore full armour, chainmail and steel plate. Better to wear armour and be protected in case of a boarding action than to discard it over the fear of drowning. Falling overboard was a small possibility, fighting aboard their ship or the enemy's almost a guarantee.

The Royal Fleet made good time, sailing through the Narrow Sea, through the Stepstones, past the broken arm of Dorne and into the Arbour. Harry's ship constantly in the lead. While most of the ships in the Royal Fleet consisted of large war galleys or dromunds, often double decked, Harry and his crew chose a longship of his own design. The lightweight ship could outsail any ship in the fleet even with their oarsmen at work as long as they had a favourable wind. Of course, every man could utilize the oars as well, and thank to their low keel the ship could sail in any waters, including narrow and shallow rivers, what it lacked in hitting power it made up for in speed. And with the ensorcelled armour his men wore, as well as the result of years of imbibing in his 'special brew', his mean could row at full speed for hours.

As they linked up with the Redwyne fleet a plan was laid out by Stannis and the trap was laid. Paxter Redwyne would sally forth to Fair Isle direct to draw the Iron Fleet in, while the Royal fleet would sail around to hit the Ironborn in the read and hopefully break the back of the Iron Fleet. And finally after days of waiting battle commenced.

 **Straits of Fair Isle. 6** **th** **month 289 AC**

 **Harry**

It was early afternoon when they spotted the Iron Fleet currently giving battle to the Redwyne Fleet and a detachment of the Royal Fleet. Hundreds of ships amongst each other, arrows and scorpion bolts flew back and forth. The royalist forces had the advantage of firepower and ramming strength, while the Iron Fleet was far more manoeuvrable in their longships, and whenever they boarded they held the advantage in close quarters as they were clad in heavy armour. Ironborn after all do not fear drowning. Looking towards his uncle Stannis' flagship through his Myrish lens, he saw Stannis signal the fleet to attack, and as one the fleet ordered full sails and all men on the oars.

His ship 'Crom' quickly outpaced the rest of the fleet as he steered it directly towards a longship flying the Kraken flag of House Greyjoy. His men, Harry could see were as eager for blood as he was. Their thick shields lay at their feet and swords, maces and axes not far from their hands. Grappling hooks on robes lay ready near every man, ready to be used to drawn them close to an enemy ship, lifting his hammer up Harry started his speech.

"LISTEN UP MEN. TODAY WE FEAST ON KRAKENS. BEFORE US LIES THE IRON FLEET, FILLED WITH THE MOST VICIOUS REAVERS ON THE SEAS. THEIR ENTIRE LIFE HAVE BEEN DEDICATED TO BATTLE ON SHIPS AND SEA, AND THEY WILL SHOW NO MERCY", he was pleased when his men just roared in approval. "WE HOWEVER ARE THE BEST, BIGGEST MEANEST SONS OF BITCHES ON THE SEAS, THERE IS NO FOE WE CANNOT KILL…AND WE ARE HEADING STRAIGHT INTO THEM, I WANT THE HEAD OF VICTARION GREYJOY AND WE'LL SMASH ANYONE WHO GETS IN OUR WAY".

The men started roaring then, and the name "HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!" was chanted again and again, so loud that it could be heard for hundreds of yards in any direction. Ordering the helmsman to continue to steer towards Greyjoy's ship Harry stepped onto the deck, his detailed heavily enchanted armour gleaming in the sun.

"DRAW IN OARS", he shouted. The order was immediately obeyed and he did not even have to speak before the men drew the grappling hooks and flung them left and right as they passed a longship on either side.

The Ironborn laughed at first, after all, theirs was a smaller longship than any belonging to the ironborn and they were taking on two ironborn longships at once. The laughter disappeared quickly however as fifty lumbering behemoths clad in thick dark steel humped over the rails to deliver death with sharp and blunted steel alike. Ironborn were cut down like chaff, stabbed, disembowelled, smashed asunder by blunt trauma or beheaded. The two longhsips, held near eighty warriors apiece, and were cleared in a matter of minutes as their terribly foes brought forth a level of violence they had never imagined. Drenched in blood and looking like vengeful demons his warriors used great axes of hammers to smash holes in the bottom of the Ironborn ships to sink them before returning back to Harry's ship.

This process repeated itself six more times. Six ships cleansed of life and sunk before he came alongside the ship of Victarion Greyjoy, howling with battle lust his warriors, having lost eight of their number, three to the waves and five to enemy steel roped his longship alongside Victarion's much larger one.

"DEATH OR GLORY", he yelled as he clambered over the side, smashing a reaver to the ground with his shield. He stomped his plated steel boot down and burst the reaver's skull open like a melon. Another man stepped forward at once, eager to sop Harry and his men from gaining a foothold, and Harry contemptuously swung his hammer in a wide arch. Two of the Ironborn fell, one with a smashed skull and the other from having his dead comrade fall onto him. Harry didn't give him time to recover as he swung out with a kick, the Ironborn fell to his ground twitching from a broken neck. Forcing his way towards a man with broad shoulders stood, a kraken helm on his head and a golden kraken on his chest Harry was forced to acknowledge that these Ironborn held some manner of skill.

Already nine of his warriors lay dead on Victarion Greyjoy's deck, and the blasted reavers, all of them clad in heavy plate refused to give but an inch, clearly the best disciplined men in the entire Iron Fleet, and what's more they were strong and good enough to protect themselves from the vast strength of his own men. It was not enough however, Harry's hammer it seemed to the Ironborn was everywhere, a ring of death surrounded him as any man who got within range of his gore drenched form was smashed dead by unnatural fury, and his monstrous fellows fought eagerly at his back, tearing through steel plate with the sheer force of their swings or breaking bones and cracking skulls.

"GREYJOY", Harry shouted as he pointed his hammer at Victarion who brought down another one of his warriors with a well-placed thrust to the relatively unprotected throat. "FACE ME OR BE BRANDED A CRAVEN". The did the job apparently as both Ironborn and his own warriors alike stepped back to let the two captains duke it out.

While Harry was big for a ten-year-old, the unnatural power of Dark Gods flowing through him and quickening his growth to manhood, Victarion still stood taller than him. Broad shoulders, strong arms and a powerful chest. The Commander of the Iron Fleet was a brute of a man, clad in heavy plate and chain and a sharp sword was clenched in his hand as the other hand held a shield.

Harry struck first, three swift strikes to test the defence. The Greyjoy avoided them all, having seen what his strikes could do to a man, even when clad in full plate. Then Victarion surged forth, striking with quick jabs aimed at weak points in Harry's armour he struck far quicker than Harry had expected for a man of such size and such a load of armour. The Ironborn roared and jeered as Victarion drew first blood with a thrust into Harry's right leg. Back and forth they went for another three minutes, testing defences and trying to get the upper hand. Harry and Victarion both knew that one good hit was all it would take and it would be over. As Harry deflected another thrust he surged forward and bashed his shield as hard as he could and the Ironborn groaned as the battle ended with Harry's next strike. As Victarion tried to duck, knowing instinctively what would happen, Harry struck out with his hammer. The Commander of the Iron Fleet survived, barely. He saved his head, but the hammer smashed into his shoulder with such force the it broke every bone in Victarion's shoulder and the following kick from Harry sent Victarion into the bliss of unconsciousness.

The reavers gave up after that, and as the flagship of the Iron fleet struck its flag, only to have Harry's personal sigil fly up, a Red stag inside a red eight pointed star on a field of black all hope went out of the Ironborn and one after another they struck their colours. The Iron Fleet had been defeated.

 **Obviously I couldn't let Harry the Fucking Hammer be all alone in his badassry. He needs an army sooner or later, and really, once you've been a champion of chaos you really can't bro around with someone who are not badass themselves. Now the reason I went for the 'special brew' routine is simple, a simple 'chaos warrior' is far too big to be able to explain it all away with simple mutation. After all the norsemen (IE marauders) who are full blooded humans in Warhammer are generally a little taller than most men, but far from the giant monstrosities that are chaos warriors. Hell Archaon the biggest and baddest of them all was born and raised in the empire, so therefore I cheat a little bit by adding magical 'homebrew' XD**

 **Of course they won't be as badass as chaos warriors. They can't be blessed by the chaos gods who have no place in this world, they're still badass enough that Dany better leave her cockles toys on the shelf however.**

 **Next up, The Siege of Pyke and more.**


	3. Pyke and Lannisport

**Straits of Fair Isle, The Fury. 289 AC**

With the battle over Harry laid his longship alongside with his uncle Stannis' ship. Climbing aboard he was met with raucous cheers that only increased as he hauled Victarion Greyjoy over the rails in chains and threw him at Stannis' feet. "Caught myself a little squid Lord Stannis", Harry yelled to the amusement of the crew and even Stannis quirked a grin.

"So I see nephew, how many men did you lose"?

"I lost nineteen men in return for eight ships taken and sunk and near six hundred of the enemy".

Silence reigned for a moment as the men onboard the Fury goggled at the number before cheering even louder. "I see you did not exaggerate about the effectiveness of your men", Stannis said as he stopped before Victarion who glared at both Harry and Stannis.

"We have orders to meet the gathered Royal Army at Seaguard to pick them up and transport them to the Iron Islands, the Ironborn will be held captive there".

"My Lord- ", Harry said, causing Stannis to turn around. "-That will no doubt give the bastards time to prepare. Give me…thirty ships from the Iron fleet as well as men to crew them and I'll take the bastards by surprise".

Stannis narrowed his eyes slightly. "You think you can take the Iron Isles with thirty ships"?

"No My Lord- ", Harry said, of course he probably could but that was not the answer Stannis wanted to hear. "But a surprise attack from what appears to be their own people on Pyke and Old Wyk will throw the Ironborn there into disarray, and by establishing a foothold we can ensure that any Ironborn that fled this battle won't be able to return and provide them with reinforcements".

Stannis hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. "As you say nephew. Lords Celtigar, Velaryon, Mooton and Estermont along with their men will join you- ", the respective Lords all grimaced at that. "- They'll be under your command".

"My Lord!", Lord Ardrian Celtigar, an older man with Valyrian features protested as he stepped forth. "-You can't expect us to take orders from this, this bastard", he spat in Harry's direction.

"Lord Celtigar- ", Harry said as he stepped forth and hefted his hammer that was covered with blood. "-I killed closer to a hundred men today by myself, who are _you_ to doubt me"?

Lord Celtigar looked close to retorting but as he took in Harry's demonic blood drenched armour and hammer he appeared to change his mind. "As you will it _My Lord_ ", he bowed mockingly at Harry before stepping back.

"Alright- ", Harry shouted to make sure that everyone could hear him. "-I want each and every one of you to transfer your men over to whatever longship takes your fancy and do so quickly, we sail within three hours".

The men went about the transfer in good order and in less than two hours Harry's small fleet of thirty-one ships and two and a half thousand men was on its way towards the Iron Islands. They made good time, aided by favourable winds and good oarsmen and despite their distaste of taking orders from a bastard they accepted his battleplan. The four Lords with him would take fifteen hundred men and land on Old Wyk, their only orders were to make sure that a proper landing was available for the incoming Royal Army and if possible to wreak as much havoc as possible, the beachhead was the priority however. Harry would take the remaining one thousand and land in Lordsport on Pyke, but he had bigger plans. He would burn the city to the ground and then he'd march on Castle Pyke itself and tear it down with his own hands if he had to, it would be glorious.

As they sailed into the port of Lordsport, the seat of House Botley and largest town on Pyke Harry was pleased to see less than twenty warships docked, that meant that the most of the Ironborn's strength was still scattered on the sea or captives, and he noted with amusement that a few Ironborn on the docks cheered at their arrival. Their cheers died abruptly as Harry had his banner raised along with a black standard, signalling that no quarter would be given and to their horror the remaining ten ships in his squadron raised identical banners. One of the Ironborn had the wits to call for an alarm to be raised but by that time Harry already had his boots on the ground, the heavy clangs of his fellow warriors signalled that they too had already started to jump over the railing. "BURN THE PLACE TO THE GROUND!" Harry yelled as he charged towards the two closest ironborn who had only now drawn their swords.

A single mighty sweep of his hammer caved in the head of first one then the other and another ironborn who had first run towards him turned about to make a run for it only to gurgle in pain as one of Harry's warriors pierced his back with the spike on his halberd. Kicking in the door of the house closest to him Harry swept in and quickly smashed in the head of the cowering man who held a sword in his shaking hands. Ignoring the man's wailing wife and son Harry took a torch and threw it on the bed where it quickly caused the bedding to ignite. "Shut your mouth bitch or I'll do it for you", Harry growled as he started to rummage through shelves and drawers in search of valuables, anything of value was quickly stuffed into a sack. Satisfied that he had gotten everything he quickly strode out of the burning house to move onto the next one, the woman quickly dragging her boy with her to escape from the flames.

These actions repeated themselves all over Lordsport as both Harry's reavers and the men on loan to him fell into the age old instinct of taking whatever they wanted when their blood was up. Three times the Lord of House Botley had tried to sally forth only to withdraw as his men were cut down around him until he decided to barricade himself inside his timber keep. Knowing that the men inside were not going to be stupid enough to sally out again Harry's strike force gleefully continued to plunder Lordsport while burning it to the ground. After four hours of murder and debauchery every house and hovel was aflame while giant piles of gold, silver and whatever steel they could find was gathered on the docks alongside with kegs of ale or rum and flasks of every shape and size containing wines and other spirits, the only structure left standing was the small timber keep with its palisade wall.

Stepping out before the gate Harry shouted at the top of his voice to make sure the cowering ironborn inside the keep could hear him. "ALRIGHT BOTLEY, YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES TO COME OUT AND I'LL ONLY KILL YOU, OTHERWISE I'LL BURN YOU IN YOUR KEEP".

A single crossbow bolt that bounced of his chestplate was the only answer he got so he walked back to his men, many who were already in their cups.

"Alright lads, they wanna do this the hard way, so bring out all the oil and will throw it over the walls".

The men swiftly went into action searching amongst the multitude of kegs and barrels to find the salvaged oil, fifteen minutes later they had six kegs before him. "This is all milord", one of the captains said as he raised his knuckles to his forehead. "Six barrels was all milord".

Harry swore, six barrels would not be enough. "Then get the rum".

All action stopped as the men stared at him in horror. The captain grimaced before yelling, "Aye the rum too". All the men groaned in dismay as they started to fetch the barrels of rum.

Some men continued to bring forth barrels of rum while three teams of two men a piece of Harry's strongest warriors hefted the barrels between them and threw them over the walls. Eventually Harry figured they'd launched enough barrels over the wall and threw a burning torch over the wall. At first nothing happened until the keep was consumed in a massive conflagration consumed the keep as the barrels of oil and rum exploded and the men roared in triumph, accompanied by the screams of pain from inside the keep as the inhabitants were consumed by flame.

"Noddik- ", Harry addressed one of his men. "Take fifty men and oversee the fair distribution of the goods between all participants, the share of any man who returns on his shield will be forwarded to his family".

Noddik nodded and quickly rounded up fifty men while Harry ordered his remaining men to sally forth towards the town of Iron Holt which stood between them and Pyke. So far they had lost sixty-three men and would undoubtedly lose more during the assault on Pyke.

The march to Iron Holt took the remaining part of the day and as they came upon the town they found it abandoned with whatever food or riches it contained taken away by the inhabitants, so Harry and his men settled down for the night while organising a shift of guards for the night. At Harry's orders any celebration was cut short, he wanted the men well rested and without hangovers as the next day would start the attack on Pyke. Rising up early Harry's force moved out in formation towards the Castle of Pyke. They marched for little more than an hour before they came upon the curtain wall that was the first line of defence for Castle Pyke. The wall had perhaps two hundred archers stationed on them, most of them concentrated around the gatehouse.

"Orders milord"? a man wearing a Velaryon surcoat asked.

Harry stared at the gatehouse for a moment as he contemplated the situation. "EVERYONE FORM UP IN SHIELD FORMATION".

The men quickly obeyed and at Harry's signal marched forward as they used their shields to form a mostly intact protective wall that would defend them from the archers. Eventually the sound of arrows hitting their shields came as well as the odd scream from someone who was pierced with a lucky arrow, but from Harry's estimation they made it to the wall relatively unscathed, perhaps fifty or so had been killed or injured. As soon as they came to the gate Harry roared in challenge as he started to pound the heavy oak doors. Every strike with the enchanted hammer brought forth a groan of protest from the doors as chips of wood was smashed off until Harry's men roared triumphantly as he smashed through the door and more importantly the thick plank that held it shut. Grinning he kicked open the door and pelted towards the few gathered defenders behind it with his hammer raised in the air. "TEAR THEM TO PIECES, LEAVE NONE ALIVE".

The bloodthirsty mob of over eight hundred men with Harry's remaining thirty elite warriors in the lead swept through the shattered gate and tore into the ironborn with a fury rarely seen on the battlefield. The ironborn didn't even try to hold the line, in the face of such awesome fury they broke ranks and tried to flee for their lives. It was all in vain as the majority of their number were gathered on the wall, which were soon swamped by men sword to Dragonstone while Harry and his personal warband headed straight for the other ironborn who were fleeing. The stronger constitution of Harry's men allowed them to catch up with the fleeing ironborn and cut them down one after the other, Harry himself laughed heartily as he swung his hammer cracking skulls and collapsing rib cages wherever he went until a man wearing armour similar to Victarion Greyjoy stood before him, a small throwing axe held in each hand, with several more strapped to his person and his face was twisted in fury.

Harry had to admit that had he not been facing the man as his enemy he would gladly accept him in his warband as the Greyjoy proved unerringly accurate with his axes, not that they did him any good as no throwing axe hewn by a mere mortal man could pierce ensorcelled steel over half an inch thick, and Harry laughed as he smashed the man to the ground before seizing his head in a powerful grip. The Greyjoy's howls of pain and panic was music to Harry's ears as he jerked and twisted the head back and forth until the head came loose in a shower of blood with a tearing sound as flesh and bone gave way to his immense strength. Lifting up the bloody head he roared triumphantly to the heavens as his men chanted his name louder and louder.

After the butchery was over his reformed in good order and marched towards the castle proper. The first challenge was the gatehouse, a small keep in its own right and no doubt scores of archers stood ready to fire out from it as well as being on the surrounding walls. Knowing that this would be a more risky venture Harry had the 'normal' men gather up as many bows and arrows as could be found while two of his personal warriors brought forth a huge log that they carved out a piece of the middle at both ends to for a basic 'fork' shape. All his bowmen would concentrate their fire on the men atop the walls while Harry and his men would charge the portcullis itself with the rest of his ground troops following closely behind.

At a prearranged signal Harry and his men screamed in fury as they charged forward at a run with their shields raised. They were met by a shower of arrows that either stuck in their shields or bounced harmlessly off their thick plate, with the unfortunate exception of Ulf who died as an extremely lucky ironborn shot an arrow that went in through the eye hole of his helmet while another arrow wedged itself in his throat as it found the unprotected spot between his gorget and helmet. His loaned men were more unfortunate as perhaps as many as seventy fell from the first volley while another fifty or so perished in the second one, but by that time Harry and his best had reached the iron portcullis. Gathering around the portcullis Harry and his men grabbed hold and with herculean effort lifted the portcullis up an inch at a time. Rigard lost his life when one of the defenders pierced him in the weak spot under his arm that was protected by simple mail, the rest however survived as Velaryon and Celtigar men pushed the defenders back with spears and pikes.

Eventually they had raised the portcullis high enough to force the log under it and let go. The portcullis lodged itself perfectly in between the two 'prongs' on the log, and the log itself held up and let Harry and his men surge forth into the great gatehouse. Full anarchy reigned as the ironborn found themselves trapped and isolated by his levies while Harry and his own men made straight for the next keep to cut off any chance of escape for the ironborn within the gatehouse. Stopping short of the stone bridge that led to the Great Keep, the first of the four 'proper' keeps of Pyke Harry and his men sat down and waited for the sounds of battle to cease.

It became apparent that Balon Greyjoy had concentrated most of his forces in the Gatehouse and on the curtain wall as the sounds of metal clanging on metal and the screams of the dying continued for almost three hours and as Harry's levies reformed before him he made a headcount. All in all he had lost nearly half of his invasion force so far. Three hundred and sixty-four men had lost their lives so far, how many ironborn he did not know. While he bemoaned the fact, several of his men cheered when the doors to the Great Keep opened and Balon Greyjoy and his family and last loyal men were led out at swordpoint by emaciated men, former thralls who apparently had seized the opportunity to take their freedom. "Let's take this inside", Harry told the nervous thralls who nodded, grateful at the fact that Harry didn't order their immediate deaths.

"Wulfgar- ", Harry turned to his most trusted warrior. "- You know what to do, strip the four keeps for all valuables and start to tear down the three smaller keeps, enlist anyone you need to help you in this endeavour. Lorgar, Jonothor, Oleg and Bruce, you'll stay with me".

Harry and the four warriors he had nominated followed him into the hall of the Great Keep where Harry sprawled himself carelessly in the Seastone chair, much to Balon's fury, while his remaining men surged forth into the different keeps to strip it bare. Anything and everything that wasn't nailed down (and some things that were) were carried out in good order.

"It seems your little insurrection is at an end ' _Your Grace_ ', Harry mocked as he leant his gore covered hammer against Balon's former throne (he had every intention of bringing it with him).

Balon looked ready to start up a rant, perhaps even challenge him but Harry stopped that short by throwing the head of Balon's son Maron before him (it had previously enjoyed a fine position hanging from Harry's belt). "Yours I believe…I forgot where I put the rest", Harry sniggered as Balon collapsed to his knees alongside his wife.

Balon's last son (whose name Harry didn't give a single fuck to learn) shook like a leaf in the wind as tears streamed down his face. Balon's daughter however proved to have more spirit as she drew a dagger from who knows where and lunged towards Harry. Expecting an attack from one of them Harry had no problems deflecting the attack, and the vicious backhand he delivered the young woman sent her flying back while she spat out blood.

"You've got spirit bitch I'll give you that- ", Harry laughed before motioning to one captains of the levies Stannis had given him. "-Captain, the squids think it's their Gods given right to rape and plunder wherever they please, seems only fair to return the favour", Several men laughed and jeered as Harry seized Balon's daughter in a strong grip and threw her to the men who were quite eager for more ironborn cunt, despite having had their fill as they sacked Lordsport, and many were probably partaking already amongst the women who had holed up in Pyke.

Balon was so defeated and crushed at the loss of his son that he didn't even protest as Harry's men carried both his wife and daughter away only grimacing at their screams of panic.

"You'll be my guest for now Balon, until my father arrives- ", turning to one of his men he yelled. "-TAKE THEM AWAY". Balon and his son were both clapped in irons and hauled away.

The next three weeks went by rather quickly. A small camp of tents was set up in the ruins of Lordsport where Harry and his men held court as valuables were gathered together and placed on their ships. The nights were filled with great revels of drunken debauchery as the victors had their way with any woman (or man) that they desired and Harry cursed the fact that while his body was strong and large (almost the size of a grown man) his cock was as of yet unable to take part in the pleasures of the flesh, so he had to amuse himself by mocking Balon and his son. He'd do the same to Balon's wife and daughter if they weren't passed around every night like a pair of cheap whores, and he took solace in the fact that most of the ironborn woman would be left with bastards in their bellies by the time they left.

A few men had protested the brutality at first, at least until they got their share of the spoils. While Harry claimed half of all the spoils, as was his right he said (only one man had been foolish enough to challenge him) every man had enough left over to spend weeks whoring and drinking, and everyone agreed the sight of the four keeps of Pyke burning and then three of them being collapsed into the sea was quite beautiful. A little sport was had the second week when three ships filled with ironborn who had fled from the earlier sea battle tried to retake the island, and Harry and his men had proved more than eager to cut them down like dogs and claim their ships.

After the third week his father Robert and Roberts close friend Eddard Stark landed on Pyke with their army and met Harry in his tent.

"Holy shit boy, you did all this"? Robert asked him as he sat down and accepted a flask of dornish red.

"Well not just me father, I had an army with me you know", Harry grinned. "Their towns have been put to the torch, I tore Maron Greyjoy's head off with my bare hands, plundered Pyke of its valuables, put it to the torch and tore down three of the keeps down into the sea".

Lord Stark grimaced, apparently he didn't approve of Harry's actions, while Robert laughed. "HAH! You're a man after my own image boy", he laughed. "And I'll enjoy drinking away Balon's gold".

The notion that his father would just waltz in and take Harry's hard earned spoils infuriated him so much that he couldn't stop the words that fell from his mouth. "Balon's gold? FUCK NO! I took Pyke and to the victor goes the spoils".

All the chatter around them died instantly as Robert stared at him, and Harry stared straight back, refusing to back down before Robert roared with laughter. "You know what you want boy. Fine I'll let you keep your spoils", and just like that the mood was chipper again with the exception of Lord Stark who stormed out of the tent.

"Did I do something to offend"? Harry asked curiously.

"Bah don't worry about it. I love the man like a brother, but he is far too obsessed with his damn honour".

Harry snorted while the other northmen in the tent glared. "Honour is a fine idea, but you don't win battles with honour. You win battles by being the strongest, meanest and sneakiest son of a bitch on the field".

Robert and several of the Lords cheered in agreement, and even the northern Lords struggled to disagree, it was after all the truth.

They spent, perhaps another week on Pyke as Robert took great pleasure in humiliating Balon further, forcing the 'Iron King' to kneel before the whole army and surrender his crown while swearing an oath of fealty. His son and no doubt pregnant daughter would both be taken north as wards of Lord Stark while his brother Victarion would (at Harry's suggestion) be forced to take the black. Robert's last act was to Knight Harry for his actions in taking Pyke, and Harry barely managed to keep a sneer from his face as he spoke the empty vows while the men cheered and congratulated him. Even Stannis was impressed at how he had taken Pyke.

In the end, the Greyjoy Rebellion was over and the military capabilities of the ironborn was so sundered it would probably be decades before they could regain their strength, especially since the majority of their fleet was confiscated, and as if adding insult to injury every island was scoured at Harry's suggestion, and nearly every thrall and salt wife was released and promised free transport to the mainland. Harry himself was quite pleased as he was wined and dined on Stannis' ship along with his father and they spent hours every night laughing and drinking as they discussed the upcoming tourney at Lannisport.

"I'm telling you father- ", Harry boasted. "-I'll win that tourney, both the melee and the fucking joust".

"HAH- ", Robert laughed. "I'll take that wager, you're good with a hammer boy, but you've never even used a bloody lance before from what Stannis tells me".

"Alright- ", Harry let out a loud burp as he pounded his chest. "If I lose I'll give ya all of my plunder from Pyke".

Robert's eyes widened along with the eyes of everyone else around the table. Harry's share amounted to several hundred thousand dragons. "What do you want if you win"?

Harry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "I want my own bloody name, and I'll take up Lordship of Harrenhal, the Lady Whent is an old widow with no living offspring to her name, and I'll make sure she can continue to live there with the best of comforts".

Robert furrowed his brows as he contemplated it. Harry made a good point after all, with old Shella Whent without issue her eventual death could lead to a succession crisis as dozens of families would try to lay claim to the greatest castle (partially burnt out ruin or not) in the Realm, especially since it held vast tracts of fertile lands and Harrentown which lay in the shadow of the great keep was one of the larger cities in the realm with over seventy thousand citizens. "Alright, but I expect you to win boy".

When they reached Lannisport most of the Royal Army left, with the exception of the Lords and Knights who all stayed for the tourney, and Harry took great pleasure as Tywin Lannister himself thanked Harry through gritted teeth for punishing the Greyjoy's as much as he did, and awarded him a place of honour at the high table in Casterly Rock for the grand feast. No doubt having a bastard seated at the same table as himself was torture for the old lion, but as they say a Lannister always pays his debts, and with Harry having the King's favour to boot there was nothing Tywin could do but smile and shower him with courtesy.

The first two days of the tourney was wasted on Harry who spent most of it in a drunken stupor with Tywin's dwarf son Tyrion, who despite being Harry's polar opposite in nearly everything got on surprisingly well with him, and Harry had to admit that the blasted dwarf grew on him as they drank (and in Tyrin's case whored) their way through Lannisport as the first two tourney days were the archery competition.

The next day however was what Harry was looking forward to. The day of the melee, five hundred Knights and other hopefuls would charge each other on horseback with blunted weapons, it would be an orgy of chaos and violence and as Harry waited atop his massive black charger he could feel his blood pump in anticipation for the violence to come.

"You know- ", Tyrion's voice broke him out of his battle haze. "- I have yet to place my bet. My brother Jaime is riding today, and so is the Mountain".

Harry grinned down at the dwarf and tossed him a heavy pouch filled with a hundred gold dragons. "I can understand you being loyal to family, but trust me, I'll be the victor today. Place that money on me to win for me and bet on me yourself. Should the impossible happen and I lose, I'll compensate you for your lost coin".

Tyrion stared at him for a moment as if to ascertain if Harry was speaking the truth before nodding. "Then I better move quickly, Lord Baelish has five hundred riding on the Mountain".

The dwarf ran off while Harry let his eyes roam the field until he spotted Gregor Clegane, the so called 'Mountain that Rides'. A giant of a man clad in a set of plate armour nearly as thick and strong as the armour Harry's personal warriors wore, he towered above the other contestants, and Harry knew that even when he had reached his full size the Mountain would still be taller, not that it would help him however. Harry fully intended to make a statement today, and as Robert announced the start of the melee Harry put his feet into his charger's flanks and spurred the horse forward into a full gallop straight toward the giant Knight.

Clegane, and probably everyone else noticed Harry's reckless charge as most others on the field tried to avoid the mountain of steel and muscle, and Clegane roared in challenge as he raised his blunt greatsword aloft over his head in on hand while he held his shield in the other hand. The two of them met in a titanic crash of metal. Harry blocked Clegane's strike with his shield, and even with his prodigious strength and stamina let out a grunt of effort as he barely withstood the attack. Clegane fared worse though as the enchantments on his hammer smashed his shield into matchwood, and reduced the bones in his arm to splinters that dug painfully into flesh at every movement and even the armour plate covering his arm was severely dented.

Harry anticipated Clegane's next attack. A strike of raw fury, Harry swept his hammer to meet the blade with all the strength he could muster and the crowd roared incoherently as Clegane's sword shattered into shards of mangled steel, and before Clegane could fully realize what happened Harry had swung his hammer around with both hands and knocked his head clean off. The massive form of Tywin's most dangerous attack dog sat still on top of the horse for a few moments as great jets of blood pumped out from where the head once stood before the headless corpse toppled off and landed with the crashing sound of steel hitting the ground.

Laughing as the rush of battle flooded his veins Harry took off again towards his next opponent. The rest of the melee was far too easy in his opinion. The brutal death of Clegane had broken the spirits of most of the combatants and none could stand fast in the face of Harry's fury, he restrained himself though, simply knocking men off their horses instead of pulverising bones or rupturing organs until he stood as the victor. He rode a few victory laps before dismounting for a moment to pick up Clegane's head, still trapped inside the dented helmet, with some effort he manage to free the head from the helmet, and in mockery of the tradition of crowing someone the Queen of Love and Beauty he rode up and down the lists before stopping before Oberyn Martell who sat in the stands.

Removing his helmet Harry gave Oberyn a grin before tossing the bloody head over to the dornish Prince. "A small consolation for your loss Prince Oberyn, but a gift none the less".

The dornish Prince grimaced slightly, no doubt disappointed that he had not had the chance to do the deed himself before he stood up and bowed slightly. "Dorne owes you a debt Sir Harry".

Harry just nodded before riding off, Robert's laughter and boasts ringing in his ear while Tywin gave him a glare that could curdle milk, not pleased at all at the loss of his favoured attack dog.

The next day was the joust. Robert had spoken true when he said that Harry had never used a lance before, but he had over half a century worth of experience fighting Bretonnian Knights who used lances almost exclusively, and so while his technique was shoddy at best his armour and stamina allowed him to take one blow after the other to the chest without barely any trouble, while his own strikes, aided by his great strength knocked one Knight after the other into the dirt a particularly satisfying victory was when he struck down a northern Knight who had spent most of the tourney acting like a lovesick pup towards a woman from the Reach, his pathetic heartbroken mewling when he was unhorsed by Harry in the semi's and then spurned by the Lady he professed to love was most satisfactory. The greatest challenge came from Ser Barristan, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard who had an annoying habit of managing to avoid Harry's blows while hitting with unerring accuracy. Fourteen lances the aged Knight broke on Harry's chest before Harry finally managed to unhorse the Knight and claim victory of the joust, he performed another victory lap about the lists before stopping before his father.

Robert stood up and spread his arms, the nearly identical grin shared between father and son (who looked like his spitting image) caused both Cersei and Tywin to gnash their teeth. "In light of his heroic bravery and achievements in the face of battle, leading the sack of Pyke and now winning the Tourney of Lannisport I hereby legitimise my firstborn son Ser Harry with a name of his own, and furthermore I grant him the Lordship of Harrenhal and its accompanying lands".

Gasps of surprise and cheers of celebration was shared amongst the spectators, while Cersei looked close to blowing a gasket. "What name will you choose for yourself my son"? Robert asked.

Harry sat up a little straighter in the saddle while swinging his head slightly, causing his hair to be flung away from his face, an action that caused many a maiden to swoon or giggle. "Let it be known that from this day I and all sons and daughters of my line will carry the name of Hammerstorm, and my words are 'Fear My Wrath'".

Harry accepted then accepted his father's congratulations as well as the flowery crown of red and white roses. At first he had no clue whom to gift it to, he could of course give it to his stepmother Cersei (which would almost be expected) but as he saw the northerner Knight he had knocked to the ground (and removed three teeth from in the process) glare balefully at him Harry was struck by inspiration (and no small amount of vindictiveness). Riding slowly along the stands Harry stopped in front of the Reach Lady the Knight had mooned over and placed the rose crown on her head while she blushed. Then to the shock of many, and the roaring approval of his father Harry seized the lady and pressed her face to his for a hot burning kiss, almost laughing as she widened her eyes in shock as he invaded her mouth with his tongue. As he ended the kiss he gave her knuckles a soft kiss, gave a two fingered salute to the northern Knight whose face was red and twisted with fury and rode off with his head held high to the laughter and cheers of the spectators…

 **As you may have guessed, this fic is a bit more…cracky than my other projects, but hey when you're dealing with Chaos you either make it totally grimdark with nothing but blood and guts or you inject a bit of bad humour into it.**

 **As you've no doubt noticed by now there is a certain pattern here. And that pattern revolves around one simple rule, Harry the fucking Hammer is a huge dick who care for little more than drinking, fighting and fucking and that will mostly be the tone for the rest of this fic so if you still enjoy reading about Harry and want more then please continue to do so and as always leave a nice little review (they give me joy, and keeps me in favour with the Dark Gods).**

 **Next up is prob another chapter of Dragon of the North or A second chance at life.**

 **Cheers**

 **Tellie571**


	4. Harry the Builder?

**Disclaimer: No recognisable elements are mine of course.**

 **Harrenhal, 289 AC.**

Harry let out a deep rumbling sigh from where he was seated in Balon's former throne from where it stood at a raised dais in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths while men and women alike scurried about. The massive fortress was far from the silent creepy ruin it once was (though in its former state it did have a certain charm of its own).

While Harry had no complaints of the…visual aesthetics of the giant ruin he was smart enough to realize that no Lord would respect him if he continued to let his home stay in its ruined state. Furthermore, more than one Lord or Knight (a few of said Knights lacking teeth after Harry overhearing them) had sniggered or attempted to mock or scare him about the curse of Harrenhal.

Pure foolish superstition. While hardly a sorcerer, Harry was more than capable of detecting magic in the air, the only thing that had kept Lords failing to rebuild the castle was their own resources (or lack of thereof). Fortunately Harry had in abundance two vital resources. He had thousands of quite pleased former slaves of the ironborn, a mere whisper of their saviour needing help with rebuilding and repopulating the castle was more than enough to send people flocking to it in droves. He also had a relatively good fortune of gold, silver and other valuables, and considering the average peasant seemed to be over the moon with joy at getting a mere few silver coins for his work meant that Harry could afford to keep his new residents paid (and happy) for years.

His own pride in being better than everyone else in the world helped him during the first few weeks, as he worked harder and longer than anyone else. Partially melted stones were hacked away all over the great fortress so that the walls, towers and structures could be raised again back to their original splendour. Carpenters slaved day in and day out to make furniture out of the massive tree trunks that were brought in by merchants and his own men alike. He had even managed to raise a small guard force of six hundred men drawn from the nearby Harrentown as well as from the fortress itself, and after three months of continuous drilling (and pain and bruises) Harry and his personal guards admitted to the guard prospects that they were almost capable of carrying a pike and sword into battle.

But it was so…boring. His blood sang for combat, not sitting on his arse while waiting for his home to be turned into something more than a shambling ruin. Furthermore, he would need to court merchants, other lords or landed knights for stone, metal and even lumber as his own lands did not hold near enough trees for his plans.

Harrentown itself would need a proper seeing to. Near a hundred thousand inhabitants, and yet when Harry question the fat mayor/castellan of the town about what the inhabitants did, the answers he got were far from satisfactory. Being told that most men were, peasants, along with a few traders, or blacksmiths and so on and so forth did not really help Harry (nor did it convince him).

His lands were some of the most prosperous (and largest) farmlands in Westeros, yet huge swathes of it was not in use, either by man or beast. And considering that Harrentown had such a large population Harry was more than willing to kick them into shape. The Mayor may be a lying cunt, but a bag of gold dragons and a few whores and Harry was given the knowledge he needed.

Turns out that the majority of the people in Harrentown was nothing more than beggars or working a patch of land so small that it was a wonder they could produce anything at all, at least it explained why nearly three quarters of the population died every winter. It was a good plan of course, let the people die of starvation, then the mayor could sell the ramshackle housing to some gullible berk from elsewhere in Westeros for far over market value. If only the man had the physical fortitude to match his deviousness Harry might have let him have a place in his guard, yet as the man was a fat mountain of lard he was of no use to Harry…well that was a lie. His pigs were delighted to devour the man after he ordered a good dozen of the beasts to be starved for a fortnight, and better yet, it gave Harry an excuse to hire someone else to administer the town and fortress, and he knew just the man (or was that halfman) to employ.

"My Lord, the Halfman is here", Jarl told him as he accepted word from one of the fortress guard, who then scurried off like a frightened rat (a healthy mindset when dealing with any of Harry's personal guard).

A few minutes later the massive doors opened and Tyrion Lannister stepped through, flanked by a pair of Lannister guardsmen. The dwarf appraised the hall and ongoing repairs with a critical eye, taking in every detail as he made his way over to Harry. "Lord Harry-", Tyrion said as he stopped short of the dais, "- I must say, I did not expect an invitation so soon".

"I did not expect to do so either, but circumstances arose, and had to be overcome", harry said as he motioned for Tyrion to follow him to the closest table where he seated himself, an action mirrored by Tyrion. "Bring us food and wine wench", Harry growled at the closest woman who was scrubbing the table a bit further down from their position.

While the woman scurried off Harry mentioned for Jarl to lead the two Lannister guards to another table.

"I find myself blessed", harry said to Tyrion who raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"I happen to have the opportunity to make your father miserable, make myself rich, make you rich, and stave off boredom at the same time".

The ghost of a grin flashed across Tyrion's face for a moment before curiosity spread across his face. "How would you accomplish this?"

Harry grinned. "Why, I recall you telling me of how you got put in charge of all the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock and that shit never flowed better…how would you like for the chance of managing an entire fortress…and city?"

Tyrion's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Why-how-you would have me…you would have me manage **this**?"

The woman returned with a flagon of wine, a pair of goblets while a serving boy brought a pair of plates with some cold chicken and potatoes and placed it before them. "Yes, I quite frankly do not have the patience or talents of rebuilding this place, while I have a feeling that you will not only enjoy the challenge, but also appreciate the opportunity to snub your father. After all, Lord Tywin can hardly refuse you building a closer relationship to the lord of the mightiest fortress in Westeros".

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully as he took a bite out of the food. "And how would you acquire the money necessary for this task?"

"Quite simple actually, I'll spend some time making a killing on the tournament cycle while my men here get me an army…then it is a simple task of making regular visits to the east. Plenty of coin in the east".

Tyrion looked close to protesting before he got a good look at Harry's men who stood like statues in the hall, their massive armoured forms a small testament to the horrors they could unleash (and inspire for that matter). "I see your point", he said drily.

"You would be well paid of course, perhaps not straight away but soon enough".

"Define well paid", Tyrion said with a small smile.

Taking out a few sheets of parchment Harry turned them over to Tyrion. "These are the plans I have for the place, and **this** takes first priority", Harry pointed to the second largest tower, helpfully labelled as 'brothel'. "I intend for that to be the finest brothel in Westeros, filled to the brim with the most beautiful whores, only the best would do…as my Castellan you would naturally have…free access".

"You know-", Tyrion said as he raised his glass to Harry, "- I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship".

Harry clanked his glass against Tyrion's and downed the contents. "I know", he said with a grin.

 **0000000000000000ooooooooooooooooo000000000000000000oooooooooooooooo000000000000000**

So started a wonderful partnership. Tyrion went to work with a fury that quite frankly baffled Harry. His first actions was to scour Harrentown for able workers as well as set up a proper workplan. The peasants were now given much larger tracts of land to work, which would provide with much bigger harvests. The former mayor's estate was confiscated (yielding a very large amount of gold). What few ravens they possessed were sent out to King's Landing, Highgarden, Lannisport and Oldtown, inviting workers of any trade to come. Through some finagling he had convienced the citadel to send a trio of Maesters (two still in training) dedicated to the field of economics and construction as well as enough ravens to spread the word quickly all across Westeros.

Most importantly, he managed to aquire miners. Tyrion it appeared was actually quite popular both in the Rock and Lannisport (as well as every inn of both good and ill repute in the Westerlands). The Lords and Knights might openly dislike and mock him, but the poor worker adored the little dwarf, who was not only quite amusing (and friendly) but also a good spender, so was able to tempt a lot of men (and their families) away from the Westerlands to Harrenhal in search of better prospects.

Fully half of Harry's guards (which he had named 'Hird' in homage to his past life) hard been sent out with some of the ships they had taken from the ironborn to bring back A: whores, and B: warriors who wanted the chance to live the three F's across Essos, the three F's being: Fucking, Fighting and Feasting.

Harry himself had not been idle of course. As soon as he and Tyrion had spent a few days to go over all the plans for Harrenhal in detail he had set out with five of his Hird on horseback to the saltpans where the Landed Knight Ser Quincy Cox ruled. The Saltpans was a relatively small town and unless something drastic was to happen it would continue to be so, a fact that Harry was keen to take advantage off.

The Saltpans would be expanded to the point that all forty of Harry's longships could stay docked at any given time, and Harry's men would be permitted to mine the nearby Mountains of Moon for both quarried rock as well as metals, in return, Harry would pledge to always come to their support, he had (reluctantly) taken Ser Quincy's youngest son Reginald as his squire (victim), and would personally finance the aforementioned docks, as well as a good bridge (which would be needed to transport stone and ore). Hardly the best deal he could have gotten, yet he had a feeling that his father would not ignore Harry caving Ser Quincy's head in either.

As the Lord of Harrenhal and the surrounding lands he had sent out words to his vassals to supply him with as many men able to bear arms as they could spare. IT was a small pittance that he got, barely two hundred men in all and a single hedge knight whose name Harry didn't even bother to learn. Harrentown had proved far more bountiful. The large town (easily a city if it was ever granted a charter) was for the most part composed of ramshackle wooden houses that looked like they wouldn't even survive the next winter, so Harry had ordered most of the city levelled, the inhabitants who found themselves without housing quickly relocated to Harrenhal, where a new sprawling town was raised outside the great walls, the enormous piles of wood at their disposal from the old houses used to keep the men women and children warm at night and the furnaces burning.

Work on the fortress itself was temporarily halted as, under the watchful eyes of the Maesters and stonemasons the Kingspyre-Tower, the adjoining Widows-Tower and the Wailing-Tower which was the closest to the aforementioned towers were each brought down in a tumbling crash. The space the three largest towers of Harrenhal had occupied would be used to eruct a single keep, so large that all the stone from the three towers would be used simply to lay the foundation and first floor. It would be a large square keep with rounded towers on each corner, perhaps a thirdway up the keep would shrink slightly so to make room for proper battlements around it, with a further shrinking hallway up from that point again, while the roof itself would be flat with surrounding battlements so that Harry could have men stationed even at the top. Each of the towers would be in the same fashion, and would be large enough to hold a pair of scorpions each, mounted in such a way that they could even fire down into the courtyard, one from each of the towers on either side of the gate to the new keep would be able to fire down into any force stupid enough to try and batter the doors down.

As it was, from the population of Harrentown (new and old Harrentown) he had managed to get slightly over a third into working the fields, which was over twenty-five thousand in all. A further ten thousand had been conscripted and would be trained into guards and soldiers, the soldiers being those with a particular talent for war and as such would be used for his…foreign affairs. The training of the men was slow of course, but Harry and the Hird were not going to stop until they had the best men in Westeros, every day they were pushed and beaten through various exercises meant to build strength, mock battles were fought that resulted in numerous cuts, bruises, broken bones and on the rare occasion death.

Old Shella Whent was sadly never found after the collapse of the towers, Harry had naturally informed his father in a letter that the Lady When and her retainers had decided to head north to visit her grand-niece Catelyn Stark so his hands were clean…figuratively.

The large natural caverns benath the former Wailing-Tower would be expanded into a proper underground armory/prison, while the Tower of Ghosts would be made into a proper granary. The Tower of Dread (which was receiving almost as much of his fortune as the great keep itself) was aptly renamed into the Tower of Pleasure. The ruined upper portions of the two towers were removed and proper roofs would be erected, leaving the Tower of Pleasure at ten floors tall, the upper floor reserved for the Matriarch who would be keeping the tower running (and reserved for Harry if it pleased him), while the next two floors were the 'living quarters' of the ladies, and a place where their children (if any) would be permitted to stay, the rest of the floors would cater to man's every desire, while the ground floor would hold the 'reception' area.

The 'Granary Tower' was capped at six floors. Work on the buildings in the courtyard was also planned, for the most part it was simple restoration, but a few buildings would be repurposed. The barracks would be inside the great keep, so the previous barracks building would be repurposed into a massive forge complex, so large that it contained a hundred massive furnaces five times the height of a man, while the armoury and prison both were torn down to make room for a large practice area, where men could practice their skills of war, like archery or combat. The ruins of the sept was also removed and with careful negotiations with the most devout, the High Septon, and a few of the more devout Westerosi Noble houses (most of them from the Vale) Harry and Tyrion managed to craft a deal for a new sept to be raised outside the walls in the middle of the fledgeling town that was growing there, which would be even greater than the Sept of Baelor. Convincing them had been remarkably easy actually. Harry had sworn to finance half of it, the Faith a further half of the remaining costs, while the remaining Noble houses would cover the rest. Workers were easily gathered as Kings Landing (Flea Bottom to be precise) had over a hundred thousand poor unfortunate souls living in squalor with no hope for improving their lot. And the mere promise of work, as well as a small patch of land (and wood) to make a 'proper' house got him near fifty thousand people.

Why do this one might wonder. Harry did not give a single fuck about The Faith, but knew that others did, and experience told him that it was always better to have religion on your side, and Religion was easy to appease. For the truly religious, the promise of pleasing the smith through hard work, and giving a 'better' life to the poor pleased the Mother apparently. For the majority of the Most Devout and other Septons who wanted to live in opulence the promise of a sept even greater than the Great Sept of Baelor (and secret promises of 'cheaper services' in the Tower of Pleasure was more than enough.

From elsewhere in Westeros (particularly after the arrival of over four hundred Ravens) he got perhaps as many as a hundred thousand men women and children in all, not that Harry was around too much, with the Greyjoy Rebellion officially over it seemed that every Lord (particularly the Reach) wanted to hold tourneys. Reachman naturally held tourneys all the time to celebrate anything from a marriage to the birth of a Lord's third cousin, and Harry was more than willing to enter, sometimes the joust, sometimes the melee and even both when the winner's purse was particularly promising. It was necessary of course to do this as even with the great starting point he had with his plunder from Pyke and the Tourney of Lannisport, Harrenhal seemed to swallow money like a voracious dragon, and only winning tournaments (as well as depleting the hoards of any bandits he came across on the road) was enough to keep him afloat, that would all change as soon as Tyrion managed to get trade going properly.

 **0000000000ooooooooooooooooooo000000000000000000000000oooooooooooooooooooooo0000000000000**

 **Harrenhal. 293 AC:**

It had been a very productive four years for Harry. The first two he had spent for the most part going from one tourney to the other, while gleefully hunting down bandits in between, along with regular visits to Harrenhal. The last two years had been spent almost solely in Mereen and Yunkai, dominating the fighting pits, but as they say all good things come to an end. Having been gone for almost two entire years he had finally conceded that it was time to return home, so he had packed up his ships (loaded with wealth, warriors and pleasure slaves) and headed home. They had made one stop in Lys (more pleasure slaves) and then traversed the Stepstones. A few years ago traversing the Stepstones alone might had been a risky venture, but the pirates and reavers of the isles had since learnt to fear the red hammer and eight pointed star on a field of black that decorated his banners, truly taking his Hird and a thousand men had been one of his greater ideas. Not only had he and his small army gotten to enjoy almost one month of fighting, but had also gotten great riches from the isles, and the best part was that pirates would always return, so another year or two and they could do it all over again…on the other hand, he could capture the isles and sell them to the highest bidder, let them enjoy having control for a few years before he'd take them back and do the same again.

Docking at the Saltpans and sending a chest of gold up to Ser Quincy as part of their agreement he had set out on the road on his horse, trusting his men to make sure the new warriors, treasures and pleasure slaves found their way to Harrenhall. As he rode onwards he felt a feeling of content swell in his as travellers hastily removed themselves from his path and bowed low at his passing. The Riverlands had apparently always been busy with people go here and there to sell their wares (mostly fish or lumber) but the road between the Saltpans and Harrenhall (which had been widened and paved since he last was here) was more busy than any other road in the Seven Kingdoms, as wagons laden with wares or raw materials (mostly stone) went back and forth.

Since he had taken over Lordship of Harrenhal the population of the great fortress had multiplied immensely. Over ten thousand former slaves from the Iron Islands, fifty thousand from Flea Bottom, perhaps another fifty thousand of the almost eighty thousand who had lived in Harrentown and almost two hundred thousand from the rest of Westeros now called Haraldstown their home.

Harrentown itself had for the most part been torn down and rebuilt so that it was now a massive fishing town, with a massive dock complex that held thousands of small fishing vessels that tried their luck either in the lake of the God's Eye or went down river (some even all the way to the Blackwater).

Haraldstown was much larger, with houses constructed from a mix of stone and lumber, it held one large street, so wide that two dozen wagons could in theory travel side by side, with stores and market stalls stretching from perhaps two hundred feet from the gates of Harrenhal to almost a mile south, while smaller streets gave easy access to the main street (called the Street of Gold by most). In the centre of it all stood the massive Sept, still under production, but once done it would be almost twice as big as the Great Sept of Baelor, scaffolds and cranes surrounded the remarkable structure as men swarmed it like ants, the construction efforts headed by Maesters who specialised in construction as well as some of the finest architects from the Free Cities.

Harrenhal itself had undergone massive changes. Surrounding the enormous walls was a spiked moat fifty feet wide and eighty feet deep, a wide drawbridge led over it to the new gatehouse which had been partially torn down and rebuilt, said to be even greater than Winterfell's Great Keep, the gatehouse held two sets of iron portcullis that required twenty men each to work the large winches that would raise or lower them, while the gates themselves were twice as thick as a man and stood fifty feet tall. Barring them in times of war was a log as thick as a tree, and to open or close the massive doors required a team of twelve oxen.

The Granary Tower had long since been completed, most of the work simply being refurnishing and the construction of the roof. The Pleasure Tower had taken far longer (still under construction when he left) while the Great Keep was still under construction. While not finished yet Harry was forcibly impressed at how far the keep had progressed. The first part had been finished, standing one just over one hundred and fifty feet to the top of the battlements, the great hall inside was almost as tall (one hundred and thirty feet to the top of the arched roof) with a gallery inside the great hall. Scattered around the great hall were scores of rooms, ranging from guard rooms, armouries and storage rooms. The rooms at the level of the gallery were all guest quarters. The great hall itself held a raised dais that held his throne.

Ten grand tables stood in perfect lines in the hall, while a last shorter table was at the head of the hall near his throne where he and his most honoured guests and trusted advisors were seated during meals. The hall was large enough that near two thousand could be seated at any given time, and if the tables were removed an entire army could find space inside.

The next part of the keep would stretch another two hundred feet up to the second set of battlements and would house enough rooms for the majority of his current armed forces, while the last level which was still under construction would hold his personal quarters. A large living room, a personal armoury, a bedroom for him and his (future) wife, and another few rooms for any mistresses he decided to take. The Faith regarded mistresses as a sin of course, and he doubted his Lady Wife would be pleased at the notion either, but hell, there was no man in the world who would be able to go up against him and win, and with such a keep under his control there was no army that would be able to dig him out either, so his future wife if he took any would simply had to accept the fact that he was a man with needs and was going to sate those needs however he pleased.

As it was his current rooms were in the largest room on the first floor of the keep, behind his throne, which would be given to Tyrion when his own quarters were finished, and if the progress so far was anything to go by the last one hundred feet would be finished within a year. Some would say it was impossible to do such great amounts of work as quickly as had been done, but with quite literally tens of thousands employed in the construction of Harrenhal and Haraldstown, aided by daily doses of a relatively easy and cheap to make potion that rejuvenated one's stamina if was possible.

Dismounting his horse he strode over to where Tyrion was speaking with a pair of volanteene construction foremen. "Trouble?" he asked Tyrion who grinned widely at spotting Harry.

"Lord Harry, it's been too long…and you've grown", he finished as he stared up at Harry, who even clad in simple leathers and a fur cloak about his shoulders towered over Tyrion and the two foremen.

"Well, I am a growing man", Harry laughed. It was true, he was now four and ten, and almost seven feet tall.

"No matter-", Tyrion said as he shook his head exasperatedly. "- These two are arguing about payment, they've had the Iron Bank do an audit of our finances apparently, and have come to the conclusion that we will not be able to pay them after six months".

Harry glared slightly at the two foreigners and stepped closer, casting both their faces into shadow, and he noted caused a flicker of fear to cross their faces, he was after all a very intimidating man. "I have recently returned from two years of fighting in Slaver's Bay, both in the pits and as a sellsword. And I brought with me eight ships laden with riches…trust me, you will be paid".

The two men nodded eagerly before turning to head back to their work, only to be interrupted by Harry.

"Next time you decide to doubt my word…well-", he grabbed one of their assistants who had done nothing but look haughtily at him since he came over to them. Grabbing the poor bastard's head in his hands, he ignored his screams of pain and panic, as well as their cries of protest as he squeezed. Suddenly with a pleasing (sickening to others) cracking and squelching sound, the man's head caved in and he barely withheld a grin as the two men went green as they were showered with blood and bits of brain, so shaken were they that they didn't speak a single word as Harry used their fine robes to clean the blood off of his hands. "Will we have any further problems you think?"

"N-no problem Great Lord-", one of theim protested as he bowed deeply.

"Work will be finished on time", said the other as he mirrored his compatriot's actions, and then both of them turned and almost ran to escape Harry and Tyrion.

"Was that really necessary?" Tyrion asked as he delicately took a step away from the expanding pool of blood around the dead man.

Harry grunted slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. "Give them a big enough shock and they'll never do it again".

Tyrion nodded slightly, while distasteful he could see Harry's point. "And how long will you be staying this time?"

"I don't really know-", Harry said as he and Tyrion walked through the courtyard. "-I think I might actually stay this time, assuming that the Pleasure Tower is finished".

Tyrion sighed in fond remembrance. "It has been ready and in use for almost two years now, and has greatly improved our profits".

" **Our profits**?" harry asked while giving Tyrion a sharp glance.

Tyrion was unmoved by his gaze of course, having been victim of it more than once. "Well, according to our deal, I will receive two tenths of your profits after all, so the more money I make you, the more money I make for myself".

"That is true", Harry laughed as they set their course towards the aforementioned tower. "And how goes things with your father?"

Tyrion snorted contemptuously. "HE sent another envoy a few weeks ago, requesting that I return to Casterly Rock to take charge of my old duties again. I sent him a letter in return, politely telling him to fuck off, as well as describing in broad strokes how much I am earning working for you…I doubt he will be pleased".

"Ah well-", Harry sighed dramatically. "-Tywin's Lannister is my gain, now, how many more whores can we fit in you think? I brought with my another thirty this time".

"That many?" Tyrion questioned.

"Aye, they were all so…tempting, I had to have them".

"And no doubt you've sampled them too I imagine?" Tyrion asked drily.

"I can't very well recommend a cunt that I've yet to test myself now can I?" Harry asked rhetorically. It was true after all. As soon as he was old enough to actually be able to use his cock he had rarely gone a night without sheathing it in a good looking woman.

"Well, I cannot be sure without asking the matriarch running the place, but after your latest acquisitions perhaps a good dozen or two more".

Harry nodded thoughtfully as he and Tyrion stepped into the reception area on the ground floor. Scantily clad (if even that) women were engaging potential customers, every one of the customers dressed either in very fine clothes, or in top quality armour. Actually, there was one man, a hedge night from the look of him angrily storming off while muttering furiously to himself and Harry could imagine why.

The Pleasure Tower, was (at his request and by design) the most expensive brother in Westeros by far, and probably amongst the most expensive ones in Essos as well. Nearly every one of the women had been handpicked by either Harry, Or Vaelena, a valyrian beauty who had run her own brothel in Lys. Harry had acquired her services, under the conditions that he alone would be permitted to have her, she would receive a part of every girl's pay, she would live for free (including food and drink). While Harry had at that point been too young to take proper pleasure from his charms (that would change tonight) her own brothel, as well as long list of possible candidates had been more than enough to make him agree to her terms. Bidding farewell to Tyrion Harry eagerly made his way up the stairs to the top of the tower where he let himself in as if it was the most natural thing in the world (he did own the damn place after all).

The great quarters of 'Lady' Vaelena was richly decorated in warm colours, silk draperies, well-lit from dozens of candles hanging from crystal chandeliers. Exquisite myrish carpets covered the floors. In one corner was a large collection of big fluffy pillows while at the back of the room stood a massive bed, covered with elegant carvings and draped in silk. Vaelena was not on the bed however, eh was seated on the edge of a pool built into the floor itself, and judging by the steam had recently received a generous fill of hot water, and judging from her state of undress, the trembling of her body, the sultry moans of pleasure that went straight to his cock, and lastly by the head full of dark red hair that was currently between her legs, Harry deduced that she was currently enjoying herself very much.

Opening looking at him with her heavy lidded eyes she smiled slightly as she beckoned him close, "Welcome home my Lord".

Letting his cloak fall from his shoulders and loosening his belt and trousers, Harry grinned as he stepped out of his clothes and stood before her without a stich of clothes on his body. "It is good to be home…"

 **HAH…thought it best to keep you hanging, following smut scene may or may not come next chapter: your choice if you want it or not. (And I do promise that we will have a return to some proper 'Hammertime' at the very least, leaving dead men and moaning widows behind.**

 **Dragon of the North is snailing along, I know where I want to go, but it is just a matter of properly writing out the battle scenes, and how to cut them up (switch between POV's and such). SO not ready yet, but it is getting there.**

 **As always R/R**

 **Tellie571**


End file.
